So Be It
by My American Fictionary
Summary: It strikes him not for the first time just how unlikely he and this woman are together. - A bedtime conversation between Halle and Mello. Mello's POV.


**Author's Note: **I really should be studying… Anyway, I felt like writing a Halle/Mello story after ages again... And it's from his perspective for a change.

You know, I can't help but thinking this is the best I've written about them, so far. Enjoy ;-)

-

**So-be-it**

"Europe," Halle says.

"Europe?"

"Definitely. Eastern Europe."

Mello narrows his eyes. "Why?"

She stretches on the bed – an oddly languid gesture considering the fact that, in and out of their clothes, they usually are tense around each other – and raises her eyes to the ceiling for a moment. "Haven't got the slightest. Your turn."

_Nema problema._ "East coast," he says. Though Europe would fit her, too, Mello thinks and lets his eyes roam the slender, curvy figure bared to his eyes. She's not as prudish as most Americans he's come to know. She doesn't even bother to hide her breasts in a sheet. To tell the truth, they are not in need of being hidden either, not even when she's lying on her back as she is now.

Halle looks at him, her golden gaze – heavy-lidded at half past two in the morning – betrays nothing. They lie close to each other, their legs intertwined. He is aware of every breath she takes. There certainly are moments when he feels calm with her in spite of her unfathomableness when it comes to why she's doing the things she does.

"No," he corrects himself. "The Great Lakes."

Money, he thinks. Quite some of it. There is just no way in hell that Halle Bulloock grew up in a trailer park. "So what did you do in Michigan all day long before you decided to join the Federal Bureau of Intimidation and hunt down the bad boys?"

"In _Michigan_," she stresses the word with amusement colouring her voice as if playing along with his assumption. "Let's see. I pretty much did what was expected of me. I studied. I went out. I tried to look pretty and make my parents proud. The usual stuff."

Parents, of course: both mother and father. An intact family with not a care in the world – financial, health-related or otherwise. This upbringing has left its mark on Halle, from her being used to travel first class to such small things as her clothing brands or her musical taste. He's rifled through the tiny collection of Scandinavian jazz she brought to Japan: Torun Eriksen, Rebekka Bakken, Silje Nergaard.

_If our eyes should meet then so-be-it _

_No need to trouble a heart that's hidden…_

Mello can easily picture the two people who passed on to their daughter the taste of the finer things in life. Conservative, but not overly so. Maybe they even approved of Halle's choice of career.

Now what precisely would they think of their daughter exchanging not only information but bodily fluids, too, with a wanted criminal and former member of the mafia exactly three days over twenty years of age – a former refugee of the Vuko-war with no money or pedigree whatsoever. A _Catholic_, for God's sake.

In short, not what they imagined for Halle.

Or what Halle imagined for herself, for that matter. Thinking of which –

"And there was a man," he says simply, careful not to make it sound like a question.

"Yes, there was a man. A colleague."

_Tall, dark-haired and wearing suits, no doubt,_ Mello thinks. Having grown up as an orphan in a class society like Britain, it strikes him not for the first time just how unlikely he and this woman are together. There have been others before her, of course. But they don't compare in terms of looks or sophistication and certainly not in terms of brains.

"What happened?" For everything, there is a reason.

"What makes you think that something happened?" If it bothers her that they are now speaking about details of her real life, she doesn't let it on. After all, there _are_ more details to her life than to his, considering that she is older and did have more of a real life.

"We wouldn't be lying here like this if you had some kind of thing going on. You're not the type for that."

She looks away, not indicating whether this is an uncomfortable subject for her to discuss with him. "He was killed while working on the Kira case. I got the spot that had been meant for him when Near founded the SPK."

Wel over two years then, Mello quickly does the maths. So he didn't have anything to do with his death. "Were you getting married?"

"Maybe we would have gotten there, I don't know."

He was always sure that there must be something that drives her – something that has nothing to do with ideas of justice and the greater good. "You're avenging him."

Her gaze returns to him. "I don't know if he would approve of the way I'm doing it."

This is it. This is as close as she comes to conceding that she has doubts, that she might just be a little insecure about the position she put herself into when she first came to his aid behind Near's back. But that's what makes her good at what she is doing: her ability to sometimes be a law unto herself. It's what draws Mello to her.

"I see. A proper fellow." He lowers his head to put his mouth to her left breast so he doesn't have to look her in the eye when asking: "Do you feel that you're betraying him with me? And what he stood for?"

"No." But nonetheless, she sounds very far away. "It's true what you say: I want to avenge his death after all."

Mello almost snorts. _Going to bed with the tool your task requires certainly isn't necessary, but suit yourself._ It suits him, too, after all. And of course, she is not betraying her dead love. Such feelings are not involved here.

As if followong his train of thought, Halle takes a deep breath. "It doesn't feel like betrayal. I just – "

He stiffles the words by capturing her mouth with his. It takes her no more than a second to overcome her surprise and kiss him back, her lips half-open. He moves over her; the tiny crucifix is dangling over her breast bone, then coming to rest there as their bodies press against one another. Her hands glide over his back and he carefully guides her thighs around his waist. They melt against each other, the discussion is over even though they are still both preoccupied with the unfinished sentence for a few more seconds.

-

_You just wish things were different._

-

_I just fear you may die as well._

-

**Author's Note:** I hope you like it as much as I do. Please let me know :-)

_Nema problema _is Croatian and means _no problem!_

The lyrics in the middle of the text are from Silje Nergaard's _Be Still My Heart_.

_Vuko-war _is an unhappy little game with words that the Croatians invented. The real name of this town which is situated in the very east of Croatia, near the Serbian border, is _Vukovar_ – it suffered heavy destructions during the war between 1991 and 1995 which are still visible today. I imagine Mihael Keehl to be an Ex-Yugo-person.


End file.
